


frayed edges

by feyluke



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Gen, M/M, and no one is genetically modified or fighting bad people, and they're just regular dudes, au where the winter soldier never killed tony's parents, bucky get that chip off your shoulder, everyone is ooc im sure, where does steve work? i sure as hell don't know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-04-17 23:59:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14200476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feyluke/pseuds/feyluke
Summary: The first time Bucky meets one of Steve’s friends, he brings a bottle of Jack Daniels to a billionaire’s birthday party, like anidiot.





	frayed edges

**Author's Note:**

  * For [inflomora](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inflomora/gifts).



> happy birthday cay!! to celebrate, here's a short, stupid story about a birthday party
> 
> just wanna preface this by saying i don’t know anything about tony stark other than the avenger movies, and fanfic where tony is throwing extravagent parties all the time. i haven’t even seen the ironman movies. does he actually do this? i have no idea and i don’t really care. he’s doing it here for plot purposes aka so bucky can feel like a total loser. :)

Bucky tugs on Steve’s shirt and hisses, “Why didn’t you tell me Tony was loaded?”

Steve merely gives him a look, like, _Why would it matter?_

And that… That is pretty typical. Over the years, Steve’s developed a hard skin that isn’t just for show. It doesn’t cover up deep-seated feelings of inferiority, like Bucky’s does. Socio-ecomonic differences just slide right off him. Since they were at least 13, when Bucky began having panic attacks in social situations, Steve’s had no problem wearing scuffed and patched clothing to a nice restaurant. 

Even now, Steve’s pants have a fucking hole in the knee. Bucky suddenly can’t stop looking at the frayed denim and the bit of skin that peeks through. It’s obscene, like a declaration to everyone in the room: _We’re poor and we don’t even care enough to wear nice jeans in public!_

Bucky’s outfit is, thankfully, intact and free of any signs of wear, but in this company it screams of thrift. His hair, freshly cut and washed, is pulled back in a casual bun that he suddenly regrets. The most incriminating item: the brown paper bag that holds a bottle of Jack Daniels. They didn’t even think to put it in a gift bag. They didn’t even get a _card_.

“When you said he liked whisky,” Bucky says, waving an arm around them, “you could have maybe mentioned all of _this_.” 

He’s aware he’s still scowling, but he’s too annoyed to care. 

He tries to remember, in his carefully-kept memories of Steve talking about his coworker, any mention that could have alluded to Tony’s wealth. He’s positive there were none. From what Steve’s told him, he knows Tony is highly intelligent and quite a bit eccentric. He knows Tony’s a Big Personality, and that he and Steve spend a lot of time arguing and ribbing each other. 

He knows that Steve made absolutely no mention that Tony was a fucking billionaire slumming it with the common folk. 

This is one thing they’ve always butted heads on. First impressions are _important_. Not only because they affect how someone sees you, but because they show the other person that you _care_. Bucky _cares_ about Steve’s friends. He _cares_ about showing interest in their lives and who they are. Until now he's only met one of Steve's friends from work, and he and Steve had been going through a pretty bad fight at the time. Things are good now, more than good, but he's still suffering for the terrible first impression he made on Sam.

It’s not that Tony is clearly rich and therefore must be a snob who only drinks expensive and rare alcohol. It’s that despite his best efforts, Bucky has brought a gift that suddenly and glaringly does not match the occassion. There are waiters stationed throughtout the room with appetizers, for Christ’s sake. Some are carrying single bottles of wine that cost more than his entire annual salary.

He almost wishes he hadn’t brought anything at all. Or at least had pestered Steve more about Tony’s taste in alcohol. He can’t stop staring at Steve’s ripped jeans. His source of panic; his anchor. If he lets the frayed ends out of his sight he’ll fall into the clawing pit opening in his chest.

“Stop worrying about everyone being better than you,” Steve finally responds. “I know it doesn’t look like it, but Tony’s a laid-back guy.”

Bucky, pissed at Steve for calling him out and grateful for the distraction, grabs a tiny and artfully crafted appetizer off the nearest tray. It’s a rose, made of thinly sliced ham. He feeds it to Steve, who’s annoyed but complies, biting Bucky’s fingers in the process. 

“Mmm. Taste that money. So laid-back.” 

Steve rolls his eyes but before he can scold Bucky for being petty, a sharp-looking man with a glint in his eyes that looks like it’s permanent comes between them and puts his arms around each of their shoulders.

“A man only turns 40 once! Or so my mother insists. Only the best for my guests,” he says. His words are fast and exagerrated and spoken like there’s some sort of inside joke hidden in them. 

The pit in Bucky’s chest widens. His first impression with Tony isn’t cheap, common whisky. It’s a petty, bitter, and jealous comment from a small and judgemental person. 

Tony squeezes Bucky’s shoulder. “You! You must be the grumpy jerk that our Steve loves talking about so much. It’s good to finally meet you, man. Have you tried the brushetta?”

They’ve stopped and Steve is hugging Tony, who is gesturing for a waiter. They’re laughing about something. Bucky stands awkwardly. He accepts the brushetta that has appeared before him and manages a “Nice to meet you, too” and possibly a birthday wish. He’s holding out the paper bag and Tony takes it with great flourish.

“Oh, God, this takes me back to college life,” Tony groans, staring at the bottle’s label.

Bucky bristles, automatically looking for criticism and interpretting Tony’s exclamation as such. 

But Tony continues: “Nothing better than that taste of youth and existential nihilism. Thanks, guys. This is _perfect_. Can’t wait to crack this open; join me?” 

They’re suddenly sitting on a plush couch in a room that smells like sage. The interrogation that squeezed Bucky’s entire lifestory out of him is over - even the accident that nearly cost Bucky his left arm - and now that the novelty is over, Tony has moved on to monologuing to the entire room about his latest trip to Spain.

“There,” Steve whispers. “Not so bad, right?”

Bucky picks at Steve’s jeans, a strange feeling of satisfaction coming over him when he flicks pieces of fuzz onto the immaculate floor. He doesn't want to ruin things with the sarcastic comment about attending dinner parties that is sitting on the edge of his tongue, so he just answers Steve with a quick kiss that promises to be nice.

But because he can't help himself: "I think I like Sam better."

Steve answers with a punch to the shoulder and Bucky feels better, gets up to sit by Tony and get to know the guy better.


End file.
